A Better Sister Than the Ones I Had
by winter machine
Summary: After the events of "Good Shepherd," Amelia places a late-night phone call to a sister. Post-episode for 15x21; canon compliant with both Grey's and Private Practice.


**Hi.** I haven't written a post-episode since Private Practice was on the air, but I watched the most recent Grey's and this thing just sort of happened. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on how problematic the sister/mother stuff was in terms of previous canon, but I also flat out loved it because it was just so much Amelia. And so much Shepherd. I loved Addison and Amelia's relationship on PP, and this story grew out of an offhand remark that Amelia flew home private "Bizzy-style." We joked that Addison had sent the jet for her ... and the rest was this story. I know _Game of Thrones _is new or whatever tonight, but it can't be more exciting - or violent - than that insane Shepherd sister dinner, right?

And just to be clear, while I miss the Addison/Amelia relationship ... a lot ... I like that she's close with Meredith now and folded up into the Grey's universe. This story doesn't take away from that. It just ... builds on it, I think, and processes the episode. And gives us a chance to see present-day Addison. I can admit ... I needed that. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"I_ missed you. You know, you were always a better sister than the ones I had." - Amelia, to Addison (Private Practice 3.19, 2010)  
_

* * *

At first she thinks the sound that wakes her is one of the children, and then a patient calling, but when she finally, sleepily, grasps the buzzing phone she sees it's none of those three.

"Amelia," she whispers as she swings her legs out of bed, keeping her voice down to avoid disturbing her husband. "Are you okay?"

"Um." Her former sister-in-law's familiar voice sounds wide awake. "Better now that I'm back in Seattle."

"You're back." Addison exhales a sigh of relief. "Good."

"I am. Is it too late to call? You weren't sleeping, were you?"

"No," she lies, making her way quietly down the hall.

"Hey, thanks for the ride, by the way."

Oh … that. "It seemed like you might benefit from a relaxing flight."

"I did benefit." Amelia sounds amused rather than annoyed, which is good. "I benefited a lot and I figured it was the foundation's plane … then I was pretty surprised when it turned out I'd flown Montgomery Airlines. I just want to know one thing."

"Okay," Addison says hesitantly, already heading down the stairs. With Amy … you never know.

"Tell me the truth," Amelia says seriously, "which of the wicked non-stepsisters called you first?"

Addison pushes open the sliding glass doors to the ocean; it seems like it's going to be _that_ kind of a call.

"You really want to know?" she asks.

"No. Yes … no." Amelia pauses. "Just tell me if it was Kathleen."

"If I do, won't you know by process of elimination?"

"Stop being such a doctor, Addie."

"I can't," she says, "and … no, it was Nancy." She pauses. "Is that better or worse?"

"I don't know. What did she tell you?"

"She said … that she invited you over for dinner."

"Well, that's true," Amelia says, sounding thoughtful, "in the sense that a spider invites a fly into its web."

"But you went," Addison responds tentatively.

"I went." Amelia exhales audibly. "I went, and it was – well, I don't have to tell you what it was. You talked to Nancy and Kathleen. I'm sure they told you how it went."

Addison is silent.

"Addie – "

"Okay, they mentioned a … fake husband thing." Addison pauses. "You did a fake husband thing?"

"I may have done a fake husband thing." Amelia winces – Addison doesn't have to see her to know. She can just tell. "You would have told me not to do the fake husband thing."

"I would have … advised against it," Addison admits. "Just like I advised Savvy not to pretend to be Jewish the first time she met Weiss's grandmother."

"How did that go?"

"Pretty well, actually. Weiss's sister did a good job prepping her – gave her a Hebrew name and everything. Their grandmother loved her, and everyone got along great."

"Until?"

"How did you know there's an until?"

"There's always an until."

Addison smiles. "Wise, Amelia. You're wise."

"Thank you, Addison. See, _this_ is why you're the good sister."

_I'm not actually one of the sisters. _She doesn't say it out loud; their bond doesn't require blood and it doesn't have many rules, but she refrains from pointing it out. Instead, just shakes out the cashmere blanket her children like to use as a booster seat, preparing to settle in for the call. Living somewhere with so little rain that their patio feels … _lived-in_ … all the time? She isn't yet so used to it that she doesn't appreciate it.

"What happened with Savvy?" Amelia prompts.

"Oh." Addison eases on the lounge chair, stretching her legs. "Well, everything was great, like I said … until they went out for Chinese food and Savvy ordered pork lo mein."

"I guess it was too late by then to say she wasn't kosher, huh?" Amelia sounds amused.

"That … would be an understatement. Apparently by the time they left for dinner Savvy had done everything but perform the score from _Fiddler on the Roof._"

"Maybe I should have told my sisters I converted," Amelia muses. "They can't have reacted any worse."

Addison doesn't say anything.

"They hold everything against me, still. They haven't forgotten one thing and I get it, you know, I was the one who blacked out and forgot stuff, but I'm not fourteen anymore."

"I know that."

"_You_ know that, but they don't know that."

"They know that, on some level, but … it takes time, for them," Addison suggests gently. "To process things."

"You sound like Kathleen."

"If I sounded like Kathleen, I would already have diagnosed both of us with something that's both very incurable and _very_ publishable."

"I guess I'm not the only wise one." Amelia sounds like she's smiling. "So just to be clear … they both called? Not Mom too, though?"

"Your mom doesn't call me."

Addison can't really imagine what that call would look like. Her mother-in-law barely called when she was married to her son. They had a complicated relationship, Addison and Carolyn. There was – love, or something like it. Fondness, anyway. But there was Addison's insecurity and Carolyn's resentment and the chasm in between. Her mother-in-law was a bit of a paradox at times: equally proud of her blue collar roots, insistent that her daughters marry men who would provide a lifestyle she never could have … and judgmental of Addison's financially privileged upbringing. The same mother-in-law who relished every promotion Nancy's husband secured – she was more enthusiastic than her daughter when he made managing director – looked askance at Addison's trust fund even though it was common knowledge among the sisters that she left it untouched but for charitable contribution. Addison grew up in a family that didn't talk about money and had to learn how to navigate one that did, to learn that _didn't talk about money _is a privilege in and of itself.

All that is to say … she's fairly certain her mother-in-law wasn't exactly heartbroken to learn of the divorce.

"My mom doesn't usually call me either," Amelia says. "And she didn't come to my wedding."

Addison just listens; she's heard this story before, heard the genuine hurt Carolyn's rebuff caused her youngest daughter.

"I called her, Addie. I asked her – no, I _begged_ her to come, and she didn't. I know I've done things," and Amelia's voice sounds small and hurt like she's a teenager again, "but it was my wedding."

"I'm sorry, Amelia."

"She wasn't there when I needed her."

"I know." Addison could tick the examples off on her fingers, the ones she was there for and the ones she wasn't. Her mother-in-law's absence was glaringly present when Amelia's addiction overpowered her the first time around. Addiction is ugly, no one on this phone call would deny that, and the family splintered under the weight of it. Still, watching Carolyn turn her daughter away was painful for everyone … Amy most of all.

It was a quarter century ago that she met this family, that she first witnessed its complex bonds and heard its harmonies. After Addison's childhood of not-so-benign neglect, Carolyn seemed like something out of a book. She cooked. She wore aprons. She remembered the names of her children's friends. Addison had no context to see that a mother who baked pies and attended little league games could be just as dysfunctional, in her way, as the one who offloaded her maternal duties to staff and spent her daughter's college and medical school graduations in Europe.

"And she didn't stop Nancy and Kathleen. She just – you know how she is. _Girls_," Amelia says in a passable imitation of her mother's voice, with just enough inflection to highlight the ineffectual warning.

"Your sisters can be overwhelming," Addison offers. Not to give her mother-in-law an out … but, in some ways, to give her mother-in-law an out.

Because it's not that Carolyn didn't love her children – with the benefit of those twenty-five years behind her now, she has perspective. Enough to understand things like Liz's frequent refrain of _Mom hates me_, linked to her choice to marry a small business owner like her own father and subject herself to financial uncertainties while she tried to build her practice. Enough to understand the younger Amy's relentless need for attention. Everything she did, from crashing Derek's prized vintage car to showing up high at too many family functions to count, begged for her mother to notice her.

"Overwhelming is a nice way to put it. I would have chosen a different word."

"Does it rhyme with _witch?_" Addison asks, lightening her tone; it's an old joke between them from when Amy was much younger.

"No, actually, it rhymes with – "

"I can guess," Addison interrupts her hastily, then sighs a little. "I'm sorry the dinner was … stressful."

"Thanks. It's just – Kathleen and Nancy remember everything. _Everything. _Every mistake, every screwup, every _word_. They just sat there and went on and on – I'm surprised Nancy didn't talk about the time I microwaved her Barbie." Amelia takes on a higher, airier voice like she's one of her sisters. "What about the _Barbie_, Amelia, did you even _think_ about how much you hurt her when you radiated her on the popcorn setting?"

Addison laughs in spite of herself. "Why popcorn?"

"Honestly? I wanted to see what would happen." Amelia pauses. "Not the best excuse. I do know that now. But they're still angry. They still think I haven't changed."

Addison doesn't respond.

"Is that what they told you?"

"Not in those words, no."

"_Not in those words _is like saying _yes._"

"Now who's being a doctor?" Addison teases gently.

"I am a doctor. I'm a _doctor_, and I flew across the freakin' country for a surgery no one else could do, and I sit down at the table with those two and I might as well be a teenager."

Addison just listens.

"I told them about the tumor."

That can't have gone well. "What did – "

"My mom was mad that I didn't tell her. I can't imagine why I didn't – they're all _so_ easy to talk to."

Sarcastic Amelia sounds very much like her younger self.

"Amelia – "

She interrupts: "Did Kathleen tell you she's even more convinced now that I have a personality disorder?"

"No, she didn't."

"But she _did_ mention the fake husband," Amelia prompts.

"She did mention the fake husband. Something about … avocado, and Iraq?"

Amelia sighs. "He's a good guy, even if he's a bad fake husband. Actually," she pauses, "he was a good fake husband, until Nancy sprung Mom on me without warning."

Addison waits to make the connection.

"Mom knew he wasn't actually Owen, because she met Owen when she visited Derek, like, a hundred years ago."

Carolyn in Seattle, visiting Derek. She has the briefest flash of memory, years back, standing under fluorescent lights still high from her brother's successful surgery, surrounded by her past. Mark's voice, in that tone that meant he already half-regretted what he was about to say: _Did you hear? Derek's going to propose to Meredith. _

"I see," she tells Amelia. "So your mom figured out the fake husband."

"She did."

"And then the fake husband read your sisters the riot act."

"He did." Amelia sounds half embarrassed and half proud. "They told you?"

"They did. They characterized it a bit differently," Addison admits, which is itself a bit of an understatement. _I've never been spoken to so rudely in my own home! _That was Nancy. _Addie, I hate to say this_ (she didn't)_, but that … fake, whoever he is, has antisocial personality disorder written all over him. _That, of course, was Kathleen.

"I bet they did," Amelia says ruefully.

"But the point is, he stood up for you. That's a good thing."

Amelia is silent for a moment.

"So he's a fake husband, but is he a real – guy?"

"You mean as opposed to a wooden puppet?"

"Very funny." Addison pulls the blanket around her legs; the sea breeze is refreshing, but growing cooler as they talk. "You know what I mean."

"He's … a guy." Amelia pauses. "He's a good guy."

Addison rubs with the edge of the blanket between two fingers. It's soft, loosely knit, but surprisingly strong; she knows this for a fact having witnessed more than one spirited game of tug o' war between her children.

"Tell me more about him," she suggests.

"What do you want to know?"

"You could start with his name."

"His name … is Linc."

"Link?" Addison repeats.

"With a c. Short for – Lincoln."

"Oh." Addison digests this.

"He's a surgeon."

Of course he is.

"We flew to New York to operate together, actually."

"So he _is _a guy."

"Addie, not every joint surgery is … medical foreplay."

She remains purposefully silent.

"Okay, fine, he's … a guy."

"That's all I was asking."

They're silent for a moment.

"So ... how did you leave things?" Addison asks tentatively, like Amy's a teenager again and she's talking to her after another fight with her sisters.

"I didn't. I mean, I just … left." Amelia is quiet for a moment, but Addison senses there's more, and sure enough: "I saw Mom again, though."

"You did?"

"I did. In the park, actually. I wasn't going indoors with her after Nancy's freakin' haunted house."

Addison smiles in spite of herself. "You saw your mom in the park. How did that go?"

She listens while Amelia narrates what sounds like an honest, if painful, conversation.

"She said … that she wasn't there for me, when I needed her the most."

She wasn't; Addison bore witness to it when drugs ravaged Amy's life the first time. But she just murmurs assent.

"She said I was the most like Dad." Amelia's voice catches, and then she clears her throat; Addison can visualize her, easily, sitting up a bit and squaring her shoulders. Being tough, and sure enough – "You know, if Nancy and Kathleen didn't already hate me, that would probably do it." She pauses. "Aren't you going to say they don't hate me?"

"I could," Addison says, "and I don't think they hate you, but I'm not sure it matters when they – "

" – treat me like something Nancy would have the maid scrape off her shoes?"

"Something like that." Addison smiles at the image.

"They always liked you. Even though you liked me."

Addison pauses. "Well, you know, Nancy and I are in the same field."

"Yeah, Addie, somehow? I don't see Nancy liking me any more if I'd gone into obstetrics."

Fair enough.

"Even Kathleen likes you," Amelia persists, "and Kathleen doesn't like anyone."

"I like Kathleen," Addison admits, "for a very simple reason … because as you may recall, at my bridal shower, she called Bizzy a malignant narcissist to her face."

"She did?"

"She did. And then my father made a pass at her. And _then_ she suggested that he was addicted to promiscuity to cover up deeply-buried latent homosexual urges." Addison pauses again. "Interesting how she turned out to be so right … and so wrong. So _close_," she amends. "Like those cadaver dogs who start barking a room away."

Amelia sounds vaguely amused.

"They always liked you," Amelia says. "From the start."

"They did," Addison admits. It's true; she and Derek's sisters shared a certain language from the beginning, a women-in-medicine language, a how-high-can-my-heels-be-and-still-be-taken-seriously language. What they didn't share was her closeness to Amy, as a teenager and then again.

"Don't worry, Addie, I know you well enough to know you're nothing like them."

"And neither are you."

"Yeah." Amelia sounds thoughtful. "And I'm okay with that."

"Good." Addison pauses. "You're back in Seattle now," she says, "with a country between you and your sisters, so I hope you're … relaxing."

Or as much relaxing as a surgeon can do.

"Oh, yeah. I did the sober version of drinking a bottle of wine."

"What's that?"

"Girl talk." Amelia sounds faintly amused. "You know, Meredith's only met Nancy once and she's never met Kathleen … but she's got their number."

"Ah." So there was support waiting for her when she returned to Seattle. The thought pleases her. "Are you still – "

"Yes. And Maggie. You remember – "

"You mentioned."

They speak in half-sentences, quick reminders of the new pieces of their lives.

"She's a good sister. Meredith is." Amelia pauses. "But you don't – "

"Of course not," Addison assures her, not needing to hear the rest to understand. "I'm glad you have her … that you have each other, actually." She means it, too. "How is she doing?"

Addison heard about the Harper Avery, and sent a congratulatory note – as you do – but she wasn't asking how Meredith was doing professionally, and Amelia seems to get that.

"She's … strong. You know, she needs to be. And the kids are great. They keep her busy. They keep all of us on our toes, and Addie – you won't believe this – my mom asked me if I _ever run into Meredith_."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

They're both quiet for a moment. There was a time, a pettier time, years ago, when Addison might have been pleased that Carolyn didn't seem particularly attached to her new daughter-in-law. That was a different version of herself, a younger and sadder version. Now, with years under her belt, it only saddens her to think that her former mother-in-law, who knew better than anyone how difficult it was to raise children on her own after a husband's untimely death, still maintained distance from her son's widow … and their children.

"The kids," Addison begins tentatively, and Amelia responds before she has to specify.

"Mom didn't ask. Nancy had a picture of Zola on the staircase, but that's it. No Bailey, no Ellis. I mean, I know everyone's frozen in time on Nancy's freakin' photo staircase, but you'd think she could update it once in a while."

"The photo staircase." Addison sighs a little, remembering. "Wait, I thought Nancy moved?"

"Oh, she did. But she brought the photo staircase with her."

"Of course." Addison considers this. Years ago, when she was married to Derek and Nancy was raising an ever growing brood of children in a rambling Connecticut house, the photo staircase changed all the time. Nancy tended to pick unflattering pictures of her sisters – Addison included – but that was forgivable.

More so than what she's realizing is the distance between her ex-husband's family of origin and his new family.

"Don't, Addie."

"What?"

"You're breathing all – sad," Amelia says. "Look, Meredith and the kids? Are better off without Nancy and Kathleen. And Lizzie, come to think of it. They're her sisters-in-law … but they're not. And they haven't been my sisters in a long time."

Addison contemplates this.

"They're why I always needed surrogate sisters. You'd think someone with three sisters wouldn't, but I did. And I've had _good_ ones. Good surrogate sisters. The best. Better than I deserved."

"That's not true. You're a good sister too."

"Nancy and Kathleen would disagree."

"Nancy and Kathleen don't know everything. They don't know you," Addison reminds her, "not really."

"No, I guess they don't. They proved it this time." Amelia pauses. "You think I shouldn't have gone?"

"I think it was very brave." Addison pauses, cocking her head toward the house. Was that – carefully, she stands, listening.

Yeah.

"Give me just a sec, okay?" She pulls open the sliding glass door.

"If that's my godson, tell him Auntie Amelia needs his mom right now because she's still her sisters' favorite teenaged screwup."

"Your godson has been sleeping through the night like a champ for a while now," Addison says gently, "but I can't say the same for his little sister. I'll be right back."

She hastens into the house and through the living room – sure enough, Evelyn is standing on the bottom step of the staircase, thumb hovering near her mouth, wearing green-and-grey striped pajamas that belonged to Henry first. She loves anything that was her brother's; while she's always been drawn to babies, she prefers to swaddle, cuddle, and attempt to bottle feed Henry's collection of hand-me-down wooden trucks instead of dolls.

And … yes, as Addison drops the phone on the couch and lifts her teary-eyed daughter into her arms, she feels the bruising thump at the back of her neck that reminds her Evelyn is carrying a model subway train in one hand. Not the most comforting in terms of texture, but it's not a surprise.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" She rocks back and forth to soothe her.

"I _did _go look for you," Evelyn reports tremulously – she tends to make pronouncements as if they've already been contradicted – "but Daddy was sleeping."

"Yeah, that's because it's really late." She strokes her daughter's head. "And you should be sleeping too."

"Mama's not sleeping." Evelyn leans back a little in her arms, playing with a lock of her mother's hair where it brushes her shoulders.

"Only because I was on the phone." She kisses one very soft cheek. "Okay, it's really late, Ev, so let's go back to bed. Baby, it's okay," she says quickly as the little girl starts to protest.

She resorts to the sort of gently sibilant sounds that used to comfort her daughter when she was tiny and, sighing a little, she leans against the banister to take some of the weight off her back. Evelyn is still her baby, but sleepy and cuddly like this, she's also very adorable dead weight who – thankfully – hasn't noticed that her mother is not quite in her physical prime anymore.

Stroking her daughter's hair, she silently wills her back to sleep. Deep, even breaths bode well, and so does the limp weight of her warm little body. Which means if she can just –

"Addie? You still alive out there?"

Amelia's voice cuts through loudly the empty living room and Addison remembers, too late, that she put the call on mute rather than hold.

"Who's that?" Evelyn asks, instantly awake, lifting her head from her mother's shoulder. "Who's on the phone?" She clings harder instead of waiting for an answer.

She doesn't really want to know; the point is, it's not her, and that's unacceptable. Evelyn, as far as she's concerned, deserves all her mother's focus. And Addison, for her part, appreciates the kind of naked need her children are willing to show in front of her. This mothering thing – she wanted it desperately, she loves it more than she's ever loved anything, but at the same time she's willing to admit she spends ninety percent of the time basically flying blind. Her most-used litmus test? Any time her kids make clear that Addison is _not _her parents.

Low bar … but it's something. She whispers a quick apology into the phone and places the call on hold before turning back to Evelyn.

"Shh. That was your Auntie Amelia," Addison tells her daughter quietly, now starting to pace and swaying a little as she walks, hoping to lull her back to sleep.

"I wanna talk," Evelyn protests sleepily.

"Next time, sweetheart." She rubs her daughter's little back, warm through her pajama top; Evelyn snuggles close but remains awake and clings stubbornly when Addison starts to walk her upstairs.

"Need a hand?"

She doesn't startle at his approach because his voice and footfalls are _that_ familiar, now, and she's even happier than usual to hear him.

"How did you know?" she asks gratefully, turning to see her husband's very welcome and very handsome face.

"Sixth sense." He leans down to drop a kiss on her lips. "Everything okay?" he asks, gesturing toward the phone sitting face down now on the table.

"It's Amelia," she says in lieu of answering.

"Ah. But she's – "

"She's fine," Addison assures him. "Physically, or – she's fine."

Jake's brow creases with concern.

"And she's sober," she adds. "It's not that. It's, uh, she was in New York. And she saw her sisters."

Her husband, who has heard enough stories to realize the import of this, widens his eyes. "On purpose?" he asks.

"Exactly." Addison grimaces.

"Say no more." Jake squeezes her arm with gentle support. "Evvy," he calls softly, walking around her a bit so he can see the sleepy face resting on her shoulder. "Bedtime, sweetheart. Come with Daddy."

Their daughter offers a few token protests but is placated with expert ease by her father, who gives Addison a reassuring nod of _it's handled_ and carries their daughter – and her security subway car – up the stairs to bed.

Addison watches them go, her heart very full, and then remembers the call. Relieved, she sees her former sister-in-law is still on the line.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry, Amelia," she says, a little breathless. "That took longer than I thought. Evelyn … is not a fan of bedtime these days."

"No worries. I get it."

Sliding open the glass doors to the patio, Addison lets the ocean breeze warm her face again.

"You do get it," Addison says slowly "You have kids too."

"I'm not a mom, though. Not exactly. Not officially."

"In my experience … the official parts aren't really what the mom thing is about."

Amelia is quiet for a moment, and Addison wonders if she was too glib. She asks about the children instead – one of whom is a mother herself, of course, and her little son, and Amelia updates her. They go back and forth about Henry – his recent interest in cooking, and the thoroughly decent banana pancakes he made last weekend, and his loyalty to the Mets in the face of opposition from pretty much every one of the other boys at his Malibu private school.

"They're not even good," Amelia says, sounding amused.

"I know! One of the kids in his class told him that, and apparently Henry said, _I made a commitment._"

Amelia laughs. "My god, Addie, where did you find this kid? Wait, never mind, your kid is actually a miniature Jake."

"That's what I said." Addison smiles at the memory.

"You could do worse. A lot worse." Amelia pauses, sounding a little more serious when she starts speaking again. "I miss you guys. It's been … well, Henry sent me a postcard from Chicago," she says, and Addison recalls Jake mentioning something about that; he took Henry with him solo to a fertility conference while Addison and Evelyn held down the fort on the beach. "Which was great. And he spelled _chromosomal _better than most of my interns. But … it's still been too long."

"We miss you too," Addison says. She treads carefully here, as she has each time the topic has come up. She'd be lying if she said Amelia's move didn't sting a bit, at first, but Addison spent years in her marriage encouraging Derek to work on his relationship with his youngest sister. If moving to Seattle was what Amelia needed to reestablish that connection, then she supported it.

Even if it was hard.

Even if she missed her.

Amelia's absence carved a hole, but Henry was distracting, her sweet baby who turned into a toddler when his aunt moved away and then a little boy, and then suddenly a much bigger boy reveling in his new role of older brother. Throughout all of it, Jake's warm and solid presence kept her grounded. She's grateful for her life in California. It's taken her years – more – to be able to say, with no regrets … that she has no regrets. That she wouldn't change anything.

Still, she misses Amelia.

Still, a few times a month something will remind her of Mark or Derek and the cruel way their lives were cut short, and she'll have to stop and remember to breathe.

It's better, though. At first, it was a few times a day. Then a week. This is what she's learned: that gradually, it gets better. Day by day, so slowly that it's hard to notice at first.

She mentions this, tentatively, to Amelia.

"Spoken like an addict," Amelia says, her tone admiring instead of dismissive. "Anything you want to tell me, Addie?"

"I'm not an addict, no. But I do have a sister who taught me a lot."

She hears Amelia's breath catch in her throat. "Have I ever mentioned that you're a much better sister than the ones I got stuck with?"

"You have, once or twice." Addison closes her eyes as a salty breeze washes over her. It's so beautiful out here almost every night, so calm and peaceful. She could never have imagined this for her life, and now she can't imagine anything else.

"I shouldn't have gone to dinner," Amelia sighs.

"But you said the park – "

"The park, yeah. The park was better than dinner." Amelia pauses. "And she apologized. You know. For … things."

Addison doesn't respond.

"I think she's sorry."

"That's … good."

"She still didn't come to my wedding."

"Neither did I," Addison reminds her gently, "and you forgave me."

"You were knee deep in adoption hell, Addie. That's different from just being a judgmental bitch."

She'll give her that one.

"Addie, can I ask you something?"

There's only ever been one answer to that question, from the beginning: "Of course you can."

"When I relapsed, when I was living in California, and you didn't call my mother – you told me it was because you didn't want to worry her, that you thought you could handle it without her."

"I remember," Addison says carefully. She remembers everything about that time, even if it hurts to recall. She's learned the hard way, over the years, that remembering the painful things is ultimately less painful, in the end.

"Was that really why?" Amelia asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you actually not call her because you didn't think she would come?"

Addison inhales sharply before she can stop herself. "Amelia – "

"No, listen, it's okay. I get it."

She sees Amelia's while miserable face, dark circles under her haunted eyes, the surrogate little sister she loved taken over by the … _thing_ that almost destroyed her once before.

"I was the one who decided not to call her," Addison says. "It was my decision. Not hers."

Amelia is quiet for a few long breaths. "Thank you, for that," she says softly.

"For not calling your mother?"

"For everything. Everything in California."

They're both quiet for a moment, maybe thinking about the import of that.

"You're welcome," Addison says, though it doesn't seem like enough. "Listen, Amelia – "

"I never told her about him," she blurts.

There's no need to name _him. _"I know," she says gently.

"And I never told my sisters." Amelia's voice shakes. "They don't deserve to know."

"It's okay – "

"It's not. _They're _not."

"You're right," Addison says quietly. "He's your baby. It's your story. You decide who knows."

For long moments they're both quiet; Addison listens to the waves approaching the beach, lapping against the sandy shore.

"Addie?"

"Yeah."

"I do think she's sorry, though."

"That's … good."

"Yeah. Good. Good for the dysfunctional Shepherds, anyway. My mother acknowledged that maybe I'm not incapable of love. That's huge, right? It's basically Rockwell."

It's a familiar tone from Amelia: bleak … but somehow firm. She's overcome so much.

"It was a good conversation," Amelia says quietly.

Addison feels her stomach clench. There are years of hurt behind those soft words. "That's good," she says gently. "I'm glad you had a … good conversation with your mother."

"So am I … I guess. And I'm glad I had a good conversation with you, too." Amelia's voice is husky now, suggesting emotion.

"Was this a good conversation?" Addison teases, wanting to lighten the moment a little as she senses her former sister-in-law would want. "Are you sure?"

"Very funny." Amelia sounds a little relieved at the tone shift, as she predicted.

They move as if it's a joint decision away from reliving the past and onto easier topics: Addison tells Amelia about Evelyn's refusal to finger paint on paper, since it's supposed to be _finger painting_, insisting instead that she – and her brother – paint her own fingers instead. Amelia tells Addison about Ellis's love of hip-hop music, and the mere image of her namesake knowing that fact is enough to amuse both women. Back and forth, gently, like the movement of the ocean just beyond the perimeter of her home. She loves living on the beach. More than anything, this connection with a different coast helped her understand what her ex-husband felt when he first moved to Seattle.

Connection.

Peace.

They talk like this, as if Amelia just called to chat – they're halfway through a story about a particularly difficult patient when a yawn echoes down the long-distance line.

"You're tired," Addison says, amused.

"I'm not."

"You sound like Evelyn."

"Once a little sister … always a little sister."

Addison smiles. "I'm glad you called," she admits.

"I'm glad you answered," Amelia counters.

"And I'm glad you – went to New York," Addison says quietly.

"You are?"

"I am if you are."

Amelia seems to be considering this. "I'm glad you sent a private jet," she says finally. "It was the perfect venue for Linc's doughnuts."

"Linc's – " Addison pauses. "Did you say doughnuts?"

"I did say doughnuts. _Glazed _doughnuts."

"I knew I liked this guy."

"And you haven't even seen his cheekbones yet." Amelia sounds like she's smiling. "Kathleen said he's the hottest of the husbands."

"Well … she hasn't met Jake," Addison can't help reminding her.

"Ooh, that's true. And you can't let her. _God_, I bet she'd love to get her shrinky little hands on him. Dead wife, stepkid, the whole fertility thing – "

"Amelia."

"Sorry." Amelia clears her throat a little.

"I'd like to meet him," Addison says before Amelia can continue. "Linc, I mean. I'd like to meet him, sometime."

"I'd like that too." Amelia pauses and Addison can hear her breathing into the phone like she used to when she was a teenager ringing Addison's dorm phone to ask her advice on math homework or boys. Just breathing, while she gathered up her next thing to say. And here it comes: "Addie … don't be a stranger."

"Never."

She couldn't be, even if she wanted to; her lot was cast more than two decades ago. Her ex-husband has been gone for years now, but she was sewn up into the fabric of this family long before that. She excised _Shepherd _from her name before she left Seattle, but the Shepherd family is something else entirely.

"So … you won't believe Kathleen and Nancy when they tell you what a screwup I am?"

"I haven't before," Addison reminds her gently. "I'm not about to start now."

Amelia is just breathing again, quiet but audible.

And a little shaky.

"Addie … Henry and Evelyn are lucky," she says finally, and Addison feels her throat thicken.

Amelia, incapable of love? She's seen the opposite from the moment she met her as a young girl.

And every moment since.

..

Addison sits outside for a few minutes after the call ends, just breathing in the fresh salt air and listening to the sounds of the quiet night, and vowing that her children will never have to make a call like the one Amelia did tonight.

That, and not to let months go before her next call with her former sister-in-law – after all, she told Evelyn she could talk to her Auntie Amelia, and Addison isn't in the habit of breaking promises to her children.

She pauses to check on Henry before returning to bed. Her son is sleeping peacefully under the colorful quilt gifted by a talented patient, looking tall enough to make her breath catch in her throat at how fast he's growing. There's a dog-eared paperback splayed next to him, a weathered baseball sitting on the nightstand as if he was moving it hand to hand just before sleep. She adjusts the covers around him with excruciating care, not wanting to wake him, and then gives in to the urge to brush his soft hair back from his forehead. He stays asleep, and she stays in the room a moment longer, just reveling in her child's presence.

She doesn't bother to stop in her daughter's room; she's amused rather than surprised to see Evelyn curled up in the crook of her father's arm in the large bed in her parents' room. When it comes to their children, Jake is an excellent enforcer – patient, calm, consistent, firm when necessary – of everything except sleeping arrangements.

"Amelia's okay?" Jake asks sleepily as she joins them in bed.

Addison isn't going to protest, not tonight. She smooths the covers around her sweetly sleeping daughter, pausing to brush a stray curl away from her face, and then leans past her to kiss her husband. He's not too tired to kiss her back, it seems.

_Amelia's okay?_

That's what he asked.

_Okay _seems like such an understatement for everything that happened before their conversation, for everything they remembered, for the strength her former sister-in-law has shown over and over in her new life in Seattle.

But it will have to do.

"Yeah." She smiles at her husband in the reflected moonlight before she settles against the pillows. "Amelia's okay."

* * *

_End. Thank you for reading - I'd love to know what you thought, so please review and let me know. Happy Sunday to all. _


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